


An Asura's New Clothes

by ChrisBranNorling



Series: Guild Wars 2 Stories [7]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Cisgender Character, Gen, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 09:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10873878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisBranNorling/pseuds/ChrisBranNorling
Summary: Cirruel keeps providing for her brother.1326 AE





	An Asura's New Clothes

Brightly dyed cloth spills out of every nook, each label more expensive than the last to Cirruel’s eyes. But thankfully what she and Rancalagen had come here for was already done and paid for.

Cirruel turns from the walls, casting a worried look at the small alcove that Rancalagen had slipped into more than ten minutes ago. Knocking only procures a frustrated grunt from her brother, so she lets out one of her own, a claw scratching at the cast on her right arm as she shifts from foot to foot.

“Now that’s an outfit!” The worker who is taking care of them exclaims, making Cirruel turn around.

Rancalagen steps out of the dressing room, garbed in what can only be described as a golemancer’s clothes. Brown cloth lay snug against his body, showing not a hint of skin, excepting his head, and was embellished by gold formations, held up only by glowing blue arcanic motivators.

“Shocked and awed I know,” the tailor says, taking note of Cirruel’s silence and casting out his arm in a flourish towards Rancalagen. “A deceptively simple commission at the start, became one of my most complex creations to date!”

“You look amazing, Torrp.” Cirruel lets out in a rush, quiet under the tailor waxing lyrical about his work. So caught up in a memory, she doesn’t catch her mistake.

There is only silence between them, underlining the steady praise the tailor has for his own work. Pale brown eyes flit around in a way that Cirruel would call nervous, if he weren’t who he is.

But she doesn't know him, he isn't Torrp anymore. Her own eyes slip to the rug on the floor. She feels something touch her head.

“Put the new headpiece on!” The tailor suggests, and the small touch retreats.

Cirruel looks up after most of the movement has stopped, her brother fiddling with the positions of the numerous lenses.

He nods, once to himself, then once to the tailor, who seems heartbroken at Rancalagen’s subpar reactions, and walks out of the shop. Quickly thanking the tailor, Cirruel hurries after him.


End file.
